He raises an eyebrow as if to say,Everything. I want to know it all.
I shrug. “I’ve always loved painting. Ever since I was a kid. Actually, that’s sort of why I’m here …”
Grief tries to close my throat. But his intense eyes become patient.
“My grandma was the one who introduced me to art. We always said we’d go to Italy together. To travel, to paint, to live. But then she … and before she passed, she made me promise I’d come here.” I laugh nervously. “So here I am.”
He stands, walks around the table. Reaches down and takes my hand with surprising gentleness, though I can feel tension beneath the surface.
He pulls me to my feet and into a hug. I slip my arms around him. Melt against him. Hugging a stranger shouldn’t feel this natural, but somehow, he doesn’t feel like a stranger.
He feels like the answer to everything.
“She would be so proud,” he says passionately. Kisses the top of my head. Warm treacle slides all down my body. “So, so proud.”
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He moves his hand down my back, to my hips. He shudders as if stopping himself from grabbing my ass.
I lean back in his embrace. His expression shows the war he’s fighting within. He doesn’t want to be the guy who kisses the grieving girl.
I put my hand on his chest. His heartbeat pounds heavily. “Your heart is going crazy,” I murmur.
“It hasn’t stopped doing that since the moment I saw you,” he growls. “That second, Bella—I knew you were different. I knew you were going to, no, already had changed me.”
I gasp. “But we’re?—”
“Strangers? I know. But I don’t give a damn. It’s the truth. And you feel it too.”
He moves his face closer to mine. “I’m certain you do, too.”
I stand on my tiptoes, nodding.
“Say it,” he snarls. “Don’t just nod, beautiful. Say the words.”
“I feel it,” I whisper.
But—
More thunder. Like fate interrupting my words.
I need to tell him before this goes too far.
But then he kisses me.
He groans and pulls me against him. His huge manhood pushes against my belly. An outline of hunger and need. His hands slip down to my ass, picking me up.
Some wild instinct makes me wrap my legs around him. He handles me like I weigh nothing. Pushes me against the wall and angles his hips so his manhood presses between my legs.
It feels like I’ve been waiting my whole life for him.
Who cares if I’m twenty-three and have no experience?
I won’t let nerves ruin this.
Iwon’t.
But when he carries me to the bigger table, lays me down, I make a noise. A gasp he can read. Like he can read every single thing about me.
